Dead Ringer
by S'more.Oh
Summary: An old villian with a new twist of fate and betrayal enters Gotham.


**Dead Ringer:**

A gust of wind heralded her entrance. The normal rowdy din died as every eye turned toward the intruder, kicking the door closed with one booted foot. Her cloaks swirled in a grand flourish revealing a lithe and fit figure of only five three. Red hair tied in a sever pony tail, she pulled down the black skull painted neck gator, Jade green eyes scanning the room a smile crossed her face. With a familial wave and shout she was acknowledged by her group of cohorts.

As she moved off, the bar returned to normal. Conversations picked up where they had been left off, pool balls clacked loudly, and smoke once more was blown into the atmosphere of dense cigarette, cigar and other mingling smokes. The cloud was cloying, heavy and thick. The throbbing beat of the music pushed against the windows and walls, here, under the bridges of Gotham no one cared much.

Down here lay the forgotten, the criminal element that sought refuge. A place to belong. This area was known as the bowels and not even Gotham PD responded down here. It was a no mans land where if you didn't carry yourself in a correct manner, you were prey. Clustering the right-hand side of the bar were the Void. One of the chief reasons GCPD didn't come this way. A notorious MC, parading around in their Black and Gold vests. Despite the frilly colours, no one pulled a stop on them. Unless you wanted to be the fuel for the fire your cruiser became right after.

On the left of the bar, The Bayside Brawlers called home, a street gang of no renown, but felt like king shit rubbing elbows at the same bar as the Void. Veritable shit stains of humanity, petty thieves and drug peddlers. Their threat level ranged from Zero to just below.

Vinnie 'the hand' Guiseppie, however, was a different level of threat. Seated at the VIP table, his corpulent mass fit tightly between table and booth, was tucked in with a young girl on each side. One of which who couldn't be much older than fourteen. He was ten pounds of shit tailored into a five-pound Louis Vuitton bag. The word was, what Vinnie wanted, Vinnie got. That generally meant if this middle man thug wanted your girl, he got her and if you voiced any other opinion outside appreciation for his good eye and taste. He got your hand in return.

Such was the clientele of the Alabi bar. A seedy joint with stained blonde wood floors and a black cherry bar, behind which ran a full-length mirror at least twelve feet long. The pool balls clacked loudly, darts thumped into ancient, refurbished boards. Women shouted in mock delight at being grouped and men hooted, hollered and cat called to their hearts delight. All drinking to forget the shitty existence that had become their lives.

At the far end of the bar, face hid behind a black operators' cap pulled low, sat a lone man. He did not talk, did not make eye contact and had been nursing the same beer for three hours. While the others drank and became intoxicated, the black and grey clad man just spun his Emerald Green fidget spinner. His eyes never wavered, yet it would be a very bad underestimation to assume he didn't see everything going on.

The behavior didn't really attract much attention, hell, at one point or another every person in here had done the same thing. Running from the law, on their own. Worse, some running from the Bat, but in here. Not even the Caped Crusader dared wander. Therefore, he was left alone, given time some crew would pick him up if he had talent and wasn't a rapist or chomo.

That though, was the farthest thing from the man's mind. Every revolution of the spinner in his hand was a hash mark of time in his head. A meticulous computer of facts and risk and response analysis. Strategy, tactics and theory all coalesced into a single thought pattern in his mind. Flicking his left arm out, he exposed his black chronograph.

_01h17_

Positioning the bottle of warm beer just past his left hand, the man gave a few more revolutions of his spinner and nudged the bottle. It teetered, tottled side to side and then tipped exactly how he had gauged it. The open mouth falling to point at the resting elbow of one of the Void bikers. From the corner of his eye, he watched the amber liquid snake a trail down the dark wood and begin to seep into the man's fabric of his hoodie.

Quickly his thumb depressed the finger pad twice on the spinners bottom. The vibration was felt up to his wrist, letting him know it was armed. The seconds ticked by in his head, longer than he expected.

"Da fuck?" _thirty-seven seconds._ He thought to himself. "Yo, motherfucker, you fucking stupid! Look at my shirt, Bitch."

_Breath in for four seconds. _Hold. _Breath out for four. _Centered and calm, we fight from a place of peace and tranquility. His mind played out numerous scenarios.

"This, nigga." The offended man turned to his brother. "This Bitch nigga right here, must have a death wish."

"Ay yo," His friend called with a drunk laugh "Yo, bro. You wanna die tonight? My nigga right here a little trigger happy, ya feel me?"

Still he made no move, no sound. Even for the two bikers, this unnerved them. Generally, their very reputation was enough to cause any man to cower and beg. Yet, they couldn't be seen to be afraid and this bar was theirs. The dark-skinned man reached inside his vest.

_Zero hour._

Depressing the thumb pad, a large explosion erupted outside blowing in every window in the bar. Shards of glass peppered the crowds within, as dust shook loose from the rafters above. Screams filled the air from terrified men and women, every bike on the street had just been reduced to scrap in a blossoming ball of reds, orange and yellow flame.

Spinning the device counter clockwise he sent it sailing down the bar along the slick wood. At the same moment he was off his stool, right hand gripping the offended bikers' right wrist. Spinning into the man and drawing his arm over his shoulder, the unknown man flipped him onto his back. With a thud and sickening crack of bone he struck the wood only to have a bullet tear into his skull from the concealed firearms gauntlet up his sleeve.

At the end of the bar, in the same moment as the biker's friends reacted. The fidget spinner struck the corner, came to rest and its three rounded ends exploded. Tiny amounts of C4 sending shards of tin and copper fragments into the men around the fiery wasp spinner. Within seconds time, the shadowy assailant had dropped seven men.

The bar grew quiet. Slowly, the man dropped a single eye piece down in front of his right eye. Eyes flicking up to the mirror, he saw the movement behind him. Quickly darting into his coat, pushing the beveled grip of his sidearm into his hand. Finger finding the feathered trigger, a single shot tore out from under his arm, through his coat and struck the man center forehead.

Pulling the weapon, he spun to his left. Weapon drawn to center line and pushed out in a modified weaver stance. The heads up display of his monocle identied the colour coded threat by weapon and proximity. His mind did the rest, threat vectors and shooting scenarios. Double taps to centre mass, head shoot after consistent headshot. Eleven feet to twenty-one. Craniums exploded, spraying the walls with grey brain matter and crimson life. A red mist mingling with the cloudy remnants of bar life as the smell of cordite took over.

One of Vinnie's security detail got brave, the shooter let him get close. Reaching out, the guard moved to secure the weapons hand. A sharp backfist hit the guards' groin. The shooters weapon hand wrapped up the man's arm, the pistol flush against his back. Reaching up with his left hand, the shooter violently yanked the man's head back and fired a single round upward through his spinal cord. The spray of blood and gore erupted like a fountain. Pivoting, the wraith put the man's body between him and two more inconsequential heathens. He could feel the impact of rounds striking the corpse he used as a shield. Quickly, he straightened his left arm and fired two shoots from the gauntlet. Both rounds striking true and the men dropped like puppets with their strings cut.

Pulling his weapons hand free, it was drop, pivot, point and the explosion of successive rounds split the air once more. Two women dropped as their skulls shattered from the impact of the federal match hollow points, their rifles clattering to the floor.

The monocle flashed green. Pulling the weapon back in to his chest. The man scanned the bar room. The monocle glowed a peaceful green, the threat indicator flashed a read out.

_0 Collateral _

_27 Threats KIA_

Quickly, the black and grey clad phantom turned on Vinnie who was squirming in his seat. Transfixed by the spectacle that had unfolded. Nothing moved, nothing lived in a ten-foot radius from the man. As if he was death incarnate. That visage of death now strode toward him.

"No, please." Vinnie pleaded. Begging. Screaming like a terrified child. "I didn't do shit to you. Please. For fucks sake. Ill pay you anything you want."

There was no sound, just a growing emotionless face. A face set, rigid and devoid of mercy. Eyes pits of burning azure flame.

"Who the fuck is you,"

Raising his Glock 26 pistol, the man fired two quick rounds with barely a shift in aim and put two rounds through both Vinnies eyes.

"Deadshot"


End file.
